


Of demons and kings

by CerurianAkuma



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Killing, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Not in the least bit fluffy, there are indeed 666 words.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4629360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerurianAkuma/pseuds/CerurianAkuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone who saw the Phantomhive Earl only had three desires. To be like him, to kill him, or to be killed by him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of demons and kings

Anyone who saw the Phantomhive Earl only had three desires. To be like him, to kill him, or to be killed by him. The pawns at his feet accumulate steadily, leaving the small king at the top, his loyal knight forever by his side. This particular knight, was not a horse. No, he was a demon. The king that commanded the darkness himself. If anyone asked him : _Why would someone as powerful as you serve_ _a_   _mere half-demon?_   The answer that they would have received would always be the same.  _Simply because I am one hell of a butler._ Demons of lower caliber mocked him for the attachment to his young master, but he simply sat and smiled, awaiting his vicious master's commands.

Heeled boots perched atop the demon's thigh, the calculating earl smiles. His nails had already been dyed with the colour of death, skin paler in comparison to his human days. Those weak demons never knew, who was really far more superior than them. This intruging half-demon, named Ciel Phantomhive, possessed a remarkable amount of hate. In the world of living, and even in the dead. The people that had mocked him, had perished at the end of his pistol. A ruthless watchdog, at the age of thirteen. They had made a fool of him, laughing at him behind his back. Or so they thought. The hunters became the hunted, as the bloodied chesspieces slowly fell at his feet.

Each victory, belonged to him. All was his.  _Sebastian_  was  _his._ The high-ranking demon, who would never fail to protect him, bound by their contract. The demon, who would never betray him. Not like the rest. When the world continued to change, when people continued to change, Sebastian would never change. And this he knew of. Every order from his merciless master, brought excitement to both, as the leashed hellhound is given the permission by its owner to act.

Those beings who stood in front of the master and butler's ways, never lived for long. Leaving behind a bloody trail in their wake, both continue to eradicate, to erase. Ah, nothing can be said. The victims never saw it coming, _did_ they? One who saw the young boy's face, pure and innocent, would never realize. Until it is too late for them. For the angelic face had been a facade, to lure them in, to entice them. All that had been left was a pile of bones, cleanly polished.  _My Lord, you have a smear of blood on your cheek._ The butler would say, before licking the stain off pale skin. This was already routine.

Their intimacy had never changed. It had grown further. Not awaiting an order, the raven-haired demon would lift his young master into his arms, where the boy would simply slink an arm around the firm shoulder, as if to say:  _this is mine._ As he did so at night. The butler, fully sheathed in his master, would be commanded to move faster, go harder. And these he gladly complied to. Scarlett streaks decorating his back, as black nails scraped down his back, sharp enough to pierce through skin, as small rivulets of blood mixed with sweat. It stung. But this was what they wanted. Delicious pain. In return, the shorter demon would receive bites in reward. The injuries always healed overnight, love bites slowly fading away. They always came back the next night, however.

Those who scorned him, those who bore hatred towards him, those who were weak, deserved to have eternal rest. This was brought to them in the form of an earl and a humble servant. Silently, more pieces fall, some broken apart completely, some partially intact. They both know, once the king falls, the game would come to an end. But if there are two kings, however, one taking on both roles of a knight and king, how would the game continue? The pile of used chesspieces grow at their feet, stained with the colour of red.


End file.
